


All the Songs

by Claire Gabriel (cgabriel)



Series: A Second Season [3]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-08
Updated: 2010-02-08
Packaged: 2017-10-07 03:05:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cgabriel/pseuds/Claire%20Gabriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the third and last story in the series "A Second Season."</p><p>"We're not in Kansas any more, Captain."</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the Songs

**Author's Note:**

> This story begins two days after "Extrapolations" ends. Readers of my stories should be aware that they take place in an alternate universe, which branched off from the Voyager universe we see on TV after "The 37's"--originally filmed as _Voyager_'s first-season finale.
> 
> The poem "Now Voyager" was written by May Sarton.

As my life spills into yours,  
Changing with the hours....  
I can show you all the songs  
That I never sang to one man before.

\-- Judy Collins, "Since You Asked"

  


-1-

Neelix had briefed the crew before the first shore party beamed down. A humanoid species, he had said, much like Earth humans but with slightly longer necks and slightly shorter limbs. Colorblind; all manufactured goods were produced in black, white, and infinite shades of gray. Except for the Seers, that is. The Seers were able to see colors, and other things as well.

"It's not telepathy," Neelix had insisted soothingly, aware of the growing uneasiness in his audience. "They're not really empaths either. But Seers can sense things about people. Not words, not emotions exactly, but facts. 'Things that are' is what they call them. They...read 'things that are'--past, present, and future--from a person's aura."

"Fortune tellers?" someone had asked hopefully, trying to put what Neelix was saying into a context they could understand.

"Well...yes," Neelix had answered uncertainly. "But they don't make a living at it. A Seer's reading is a gift, freely given. But you have to want it. No Seer would ever tell you about yourself unless you really want to hear it."

Kathryn Janeway really wanted to hear it. Because she wanted to understand how it was done.

As she approached the outdoor bazaar, it was immediately clear to her that one of the vendors was a Seer. The bazaar was a study in black and white--wearing apparel, pottery, dolls, jewelry--all spread on tables in the summer sunlight. Neelix had been right. The weather in the temperate zone on this world was a joy to the spirit as well as the body--the sun warm but not hot, the winds gentle, the humidity high enough to keep one from feeling parched but not high enough to be uncomfortable. The blacks and whites of the vendor's wares were clear and sharp and pleasant to look at. Only the scarves for sale at one of the tables were colored--like piles of rainbows hung out to dry, Janeway thought, delighted.

Behind the table, a woman wearing a sky-blue shawl was doing something that looked like crocheting, humming softly to herself, and watching Janeway approach with as much interest as Janeway was watching her.

"Good day to you, Lady," she said.

_I'm Kathryn Janeway, captain of the--_ She almost said it aloud before she caught herself and murmured instead, "Good day to you. These scarves are lovely."

"You are alone today," said the Seer. Her fingers went on working the yarn although she was looking directly at Janeway now, a small smile hovering around her mouth.

"Yes." Janeway too smiled faintly. Didn't take a Seer to figure _that_ out. Gently fingering the fine, silken fabric of one of the scarves, she dropped it with a start as the woman spoke again.

"A light brown man will come to you tomorrow with his silver dog," she said, fingers still flying. And Janeway suddenly had the feeling that she was watching a spider spin a web. Repressing a shiver, she nevertheless felt the hair rise on her arms and the back of her neck. Yet she sensed no malice in the woman's voice or expression--only a quiet certainty tempered with curiosity. _'Things that are' is what they call them_ Neelix had said. _They...read 'things that are'--past, present, and future--from a person's aura._

"He doesn't have a dog," she said quietly, meeting the Seer's gaze directly. Just before the other woman answered her, Janeway realized that universal translator had paused momentarily before translating 'dog'--just as it had before translating 'Lady.'

"Perhaps it is a wild dog. A...." Another pause. "A wolf, perhaps? I can only see what it looks like, not what it might be in truth."

And it came to Janeway that it was not Littlebit's presence she had sensed on the tower stairs all those years ago.

_What did you see?_ he had asked. And she had answered, _I didn't SEE anything...._

His animal guide. She was sure of it.

"How do you do this?" Try as she would to keep the "Report, Mister," tone out of her voice, it nevertheless sounded like a demand. But the Seer remained unflustered.

"I cannot explain in words that you would understand," she answered, ignoring Janeway's tone. "Your aura is very strong--well-defined yet complex. A coat of many colors." Again the faint smile.

"That phrase," said Janeway uneasily, "is from my culture. If you can't explain in words, how is that you hear in words?"

"I do not hear, Lady. I read."

They were silent for a moment, the alien continuing with her work, Janeway again fingering the scarves. Finally she said, "I've never seen that animal."

"You have seen it in your mind. Long ago, I think. It was dark there, but...." Her voice trailed off. Then: "You saw it in your mind. Or one like it, perhaps? If you had not seen it, I could not read it."

"Please," Janeway said softly, "try to tell me how you do this."

"I cannot, Lady. You could not understand."

_There are more things in heaven and earth, Kathryn, than you dream of in your philosophy._ Bloody hell. "Can you read my whole life from my... aura?"

"Oh, no. Only what is most important to you as you are today."

"There are other things that are important to me."

"Yes. Others who dress like the light brown man. A ship flying in black air." A frown. "There is a conflict...."

"What conflict?" Janeway demanded uneasily. Could something have happened since she left the ship?"

"The conflict is within you, Lady. You balance yourself and the man against the others in some way."

"And now you're going to tell me what to do about it?"

"No. You know what to do about it. That is why you are here on this world."

Abruptly, it came to Janeway that the scientist in her, scrambling for answers, was depriving the rest of her of an awesome experience. She sighed, and most of her tension eased away. "Thank you for your gift," she said quietly, remembering what Neelix had said about the Seers of this world: _A Seer's reading is a gift, freely given._

The Seer inclined her head, smiling still, but gave no answer.

It wasn't until Janeway had left the bazaar and headed back down the beach toward the cabin she had rented, that she remembered the rest of what Neelix had said.

No Seer would ever tell you about yourself unless you really wanted to hear it.

_You know what to do about it. That is why you are here...._

~~~

The lake was large enough to look like an ocean, stretching to the horizon. Near the northern edge of an equatorial continent, it roiled and smoothed and roiled again with the seasons, and sometimes from day to day, Neelix had said. But the seasonal changes were minimal; on this early spring day, it was like early summer on the eastern edge of North America where Janeway had grown up, like balmy mid-summer in San Francisco, where she had spent the last few years of her Earthly life. Yet, because this part of the planet was sparsely populated, few of the beaches that edged the lake were developed for recreational areas, and they presented a great deal of variation to the eye. The one near the town, its inland edge decorated by the outdoor bazaar, and the one in front of her cabin skirted inlets where the water was calm except in the worst weather and the sand was fine, smooth, and white. In between, there were all manner of variations--some beaches rocky and unfriendly, some overgrown almost to the water's edge with lush grasses and weeds, some with the sand still a bit damp and clammy from winter rains, and one that was no beach at all but a cliff dropping directly to the shore line, requiring her to take off her sandals and wade past it.

Delicious. She paused and looked toward the horizon, letting the soft breeze whip her unbound hair in every direction at once, wrapping her light-weight shirt and skirt around her body and then reversing itself to send the skirt streaming out behind her. She paused there for a long time, wiggling her toes against the sandy bottom--no watch to stand, no crew to worry about, no logs to enter, no staff meetings to discuss something threatening or incomprehensible or both. Last night she had slept like the dead, drifting off on top of her sleeping bag shortly after sunset and not waking until the sun was high overhead. Sixteen hours? Seventeen? She had brought no time piece with her, but going by the sun, she had slept away three quarters of a day, waking in the same position in which she had dropped off. Somebody, she decided wryly, must have been pretty damn tired.

Moving on, she came to yet another rocky beach, and put her sandals on again. Wrong shoes for this sort of hiking. Tomorrow she would have to....

_A light brown man will come to you tomorrow...._

She sighed deeply, drawing in real air and then letting it go, savoring its fresh essence, moving carefully so that she would not stub a bare toe or bruise her instep on the rocks. But only one part of her mind was focused on keeping her footing. Except for one embrace when she returned from the parallel universe, she had never touched him except on the arm or the shoulder, and yet something in her knew him as though they had already made love. Brown, warm, solid, like fresh-baked bread....

_Now voyager, lay here your dazzled head.  
Come back to earth from air, be nourish-ed,  
Not with that light on light, but with this bread._

She had come across the poem shortly after she became Voyager's captain, and had printed it out and kept it even though it did not seem relevant to her current situation or her feelings about it, reading and re-reading it until she knew it by heart. "Dazzled" and excited as she was by her new assignment, she had felt no need to be nourished. And yet, something in the poet's words clung to her soul with a kind of sad nostalgia for something she had never had. With Mark....

She paused, smiling down at a vibrant green shoot thrusting its way up through a crack in the rock she was circling, as though it had heard its cue.

_Here close to earth be cherished, mortal heart,  
Hold your way deep as roots push rocks apart  
To bring that spurt of green up from the dark._

The rock was almost a foot thick. That green shoot must have deep roots indeed.

She lingered for a moment, and then went on, no longer smiling.

She and Mark had believed that they were right for each other. Similar interests and backgrounds, good and loving monogamy with very few strings attached. Neither of them wanted anything more than the other was willing to give, certainly not a permanent commitment, much less a family. So, like good friends who see each other too seldom for there to be obvious conflicts, they had lived their own lives most of the time and thoroughly enjoyed the time they spent together. If she had ever wanted anything more, that wanting was pushed aside and buried by the demands of her profession and her single-minded dedication to it.

Until now.

In some ways it felt as though she and Chakotay had always been together. She had sensed that from thee first, but not its full implications. Even when they argued, each knew that the other wanted the same things--to get home safely, to be fair to their people, to keep the crew safe and sane until they reached their destination. At least that had been what they both wanted in the beginning. She was not sure when it had changed--when she had begun to accept the fact that they might never get home as more than a remote possibility. _We're not in Kansas any more, Captain,_ the alternate Chakotay had said, and she was fairly certain that her Chakotay had come to the same conclusion--that their former lives were probably gone forever, that everyone on the ship would have to accept that and begin anew or drown in anger and self-pity. The two of them had discussed it several times in the last few months--the same time period in which they had begun to have breakfast together. Now it was almost as though the probable permanence of their isolation had allowed them to give themselves permission to be themselves with one another....

The shadows had begun to lengthen by the time she reached the beach in front of the cabin where she was staying. With the sun setting into the woods behind the cabin, the dusky outlines of trees and one small structure stretched across the sand toward the water. Removing her shoes once more, she walked the edge of each shadow as though she were playing a child's game, smiling dreamily at the thought, sandals dangling from one hand by their ankle straps. What an utterly mindless thing to be doing. No purpose and no consequences, thinking of almost nothing at all. Voyager's captain had not known ahead of time how much she needed to do just this. Nothing. But now she knew that she had needed it very badly.

The cabin looked primitive and even a little stark from the outside, but inside it was replete with modern conveniences, all artfully disguised so that its transient occupants could imagine they were roughing it even as they replicated their food and, if they wished, their clothing. "Your choice," Neelix had said. "You can fix meals from scratch if you want to." There were several food shops in the rural village just behind the bazaar, and Janeway, who had little experience and less patience with cooking, had elected to compromise: bread, cheese, fruit, and the makings of an omelet in the refrigeration unit, with anything else she might need available from the replicator.

Munching on a pear-like fruit, she surveyed the room. She had been given to understand that there was a bed of some kind hidden in the wall, but there didn't seem to be a way to--ah, that might be it. She finished the pear, licked her fingers, rinsed and dried them at the sink, and went to investigate. The bed popped out of the wall and fell into position with a plop, fully made up. She scowled at it for a few moments, chin in hand. Damn thing took up more than half the room, made the place look like an Academy dorm. "I don't think so," she muttered aloud, and made the thing disappear from whence it came.

She fixed herself a light meal, ate it, and then replicated a cup of dark liquid, reveling in the fact that she didn't need to spend replicator rations for it. One taste, though, told her that although the icon on the replicator's control panel depicted a steaming cup of what _looked_ like coffee, the stuff tasted like burnt buttered toast. Sighing, she dumped it in the sink, wishing she had tried to find a coffee substitute when she was shopping in town.

As darkness fell, she wandered again to the edge of the lake and sat down there, arms around her knees, bare feet again luxuriating in the feel of the sand, letting herself be mesmerized by the movement of the water. The tide was coming in, ripples turning to waves that tickled her toes. She'd have to move soon, or get wet when the tide came in all the way. She did not move. The water was surprisingly warm, and she let it slowly encircle her--like a flood, like an embrace, like desire itself. Still with her arms around her knees, she put her head down on them, the ends of her hair falling into the water beside her, and dreamed waking dreams of tomorrow.

_Where music thundered, let the mind be still,  
Where the will triumphed, let there be no will,  
What light revealed now let the dark fulfill..._

Later--showered and shampooed--she pulled on an old sweat suit that she had not worn since Earth and lay down on top of her sleeping bag. The cabin was secure; she had programmed the door lock with the same privacy code she used for her quarters on the ship, and the little building was sturdily made, the window transparent aluminum. She had made a small fire in the fireplace to warm the cabin against the faint chill of the night and she lay prone before it, chin on her hands, and gazed into the flames, certain that she was too excited to sleep. Every part of her body was awake and waiting, but that was okay; even if she didn't sleep all night....

She woke to the sun, almost as high in the sky as it had been when she woke yesterday. But it was not the sun that had roused her. Someone was sitting on the floor near the foot of the sleeping bag, eating an apple.

-2-

Only two people knew the code she had programmed into the door lock: her chief of security and her first officer. And even if Tuvok had a reason to be here, he certainly wouldn't be sitting around on the floor making crunching noises.

Sighing, she took mental inventory. Old gray sweat suit, white socks, freshly-washed hair in a golden snarl, no make-up. The hell with it. She had briefly considered prettying up for his arrival, but the thought made her uncomfortable and she had not dwelt on it. Now it was out of her hands, so she needn't think about it at all. Good.

Turning on her back and raising herself on her elbows, she made a stab at sounding grumpy even though she knew that her grin killed the effect. "Good morning, Commander. Is one of your talents walking through walls?"

"Good morning, Captain." He was sitting on the floor with his back against the brick wall next to the fireplace. Soft, tan shirt, open at the neck. Dark pants and soft boots--like the ones he'd worn in the tower, so long ago. Good for walking rocky beaches? she wondered absently. Of course; his ancestors had walked the Western Hemisphere in boots like that. Or in moccasins. Or sandals. Then she realized that he was sitting in almost exactly the same position as when they were two kids sneaking a smoke together in the tower years ago. Except this time he sat in the stream of sunlight from the window that made him look all gold--grinning, as delighted to be there as she was to see him there. And he wasn't smoking, but rather chewing enthusiastically on one of the apples from her refrigerator. "Not last time I looked, no."

"That thing on the door is supposed to be a privacy code."

"I was hungry, and I didn't want to wake you."

"Oh--you can _see_ through walls?"

He shook his head. "Through the window."

"Ah," she said wryly. "Behold the sleeping beauty."

"Uh-huh." His gaze caught and held hers, and her heartbeat accelerated as she thought _Now_? But then he rose, took his well-chewed apple core to the sink, returned and held out his hand to help her up. She took it and let him pull her up into his embrace--a hug that might have been nothing more than that except that she could feel his heart beating almost hard enough to break free of his body.

_Here close to earth the deeper pulse is stirred,  
Here where no wings rush and no sudden bird,  
But only heartbeat upon beat is heard._

Face buried in her shoulder, he whispered, "Good morning, Kathryn," and it was as though they had been friends forever and had time for everything.

"Good morning, Chakotay." She snuggled into his all-enveloping embrace. "I think you're wrong. It _must_ be a bear."

He laughed softly, pulled away a little, and kissed her lightly--a kiss smelling of fresh apples. "I told you. The animal guide doesn't define the self. It guides us on our way."

"I know." She laid her cheek against his shoulder again and they swayed slightly together, back and forth, not wanting their moment to end. Then, abruptly, his stomach growled and they both chuckled. "Haven't you had breakfast?"

"Yes. Lunch? No."

"Lunch?" She pulled away a little, weighing alternatives. "Can you cook while I get dressed? I want you to meet somebody, and she won't be there after sunset."

"Cook what?" He didn't sound reluctant, simply curious.

"There's stuff for an omelet in the refrigerator."

He laughed aloud. "Thus spoke Kathryn Janeway, renowned scientist. What STUFF?"

"Egg powder and vegetarian stuff. You know. _Stuff_."

"Not in a class with eggs benedict, asparagus hollandaise, and strawberries and cream."

After a moment, she said softly, "You have an incredible memory."

He only smiled. "Who do you want me to meet?"

"Tell you over lunch. Can you make an omelet?"

"Aye, Captain."

"Good. Do it." She turned toward the bathroom.

"Is that an order?"

Turning back quickly, she saw that he was teasing her--that there was not a trace of challenge in his steady, smiling gaze.

"Never," she said quietly. "Not when we're like this. You do know that, don't you?"

"I was only teasing you."

"I know. Just...please don't."

~~~

"I have no idea how she does it. I didn't feel that my mind was being probed, but she _knew_ things that she couldn't possibly have known about me."

They had eaten their lunch on a table made of rough planks, partially sunk in the sand before the cabin, but positioned so that, even in the early afternoon, the table fell within the building's shadow. A soft breeze blew in off the lake, stirring their discarded napkins and blowing her hair forward over her shoulders.

"What did she know about you?" Although he was not a scientist, she had noticed before that he was intensely curious about unfamiliar phenomena, wanting to study and understand in much the same way she did.

"That I was alone here yesterday. That a 'light-brown man' would join me today, and that there are others dressed like him who are also important to me." She left the balancing image for later, for their inevitable discussion of the impact of their relationship on the crew. "She saw 'a ship flying in black air,' and she saw--" Yes, now was as good a time as any. "She saw you with a silvery animal. First she called it a dog, and when I said you didn't have a dog, she called it a wolf."

Slowly he leaned forward, staring at her. "She saw that image in _your_ mind?"

"Not my mind. She said 'aura.' And she called it reading, not seeing."

"But you've never seen...." His voice trailed off and their gaze held.

"Katydid didn't see it either," she said very softly. "But she knew there was an animal up there with you, and she knew it was very much like...like Littlebit, her dog."

After a moment, he said, "You remember."

"I had help. Your counterpart in the alternate universe called me 'Katydid.' He wouldn't tell me about the--the dog, though. When I asked. Or the Kolvoord Starburst, when I asked about that. He said he couldn't--that I'd have to ask you. Chakotay, why didn't you ever tell me that we'd met before?"

He shook his head, frowning a little. "I've always intended to, but somehow it never seemed like the right time." The frown deepened. "Kathryn, what did you see that night?"

"I didn't see anything. I told you that at the time." He nodded, still frowning. "But I knew there was an animal up there with you, and I knew it was something very like Littlebit." He said nothing. "Don't worry. I only asked _him_ about it because I was startled when he called me Katydid. I won't press you about your...dog."

Now he met her gaze, smiling faintly. "Why?"

"You said it would offend her if you spoke her name. I have a good memory too." They smiled at each other for a moment. "And I don't think I have to ask you why you brought up the Starburst. You were Nova Squadron commander the following year. It was on your Starfleet record."

"They were my people," he said slowly, "and I didn't know you then. I had to protect them, and--and anyway, I knew it wasn't going to happen. I'd told them so that afternoon. I just--they were all furious at me. You were the only one who...understood why I couldn't agree do it. That helped a lot."

After a moment, she said, "I studied with Julia the next day."

She half expected him to look puzzled, but he simply asked, "Why?"

"Damned if I know." She scowled down at the table, brushing a few crumbs into her other hand. "No. I know." She met his gaze once again. "An anonymous tipster gave me some...useful information, and I guess I was following up on it." She glanced up at the sun, no longer right overhead. "Let's walk, and on the way I'll tell you about your counterpart."

~~~

The day was less windy than the previous one, and a little warmer. After they had picked their way across the first beach, he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and unbuttoned another front button. Having passed that way herself, she had dressed more appropriately than she had the day before--in trim denim pants, sturdy shoes, and a sleeveless blue top, her hair fastened at the back of her neck with a large tortoise-shell clip. As they reached the end of one beach and began to cross a relatively smooth strip of sand, she felt the clip spring open and then heard it fall against the rock she had just stepped over.

"Damn." She stooped to pick it up, but before she could gather her hair with the other hand, she felt his on her shoulder.

"Don't," was all he said. But his hand moved to stroke her hair where it now flowed down her back, unbound. Instead of answering, she turned her head and he kissed her. It was a gentle kiss, but it moved around a great deal and took some time to finish. Finally he said huskily, "I like it better down. Please?"

"Okay," she whispered. They kissed once more, lightly this time. Then she put the clip in her pants pocket and they moved on. After a moment, she said, "I think I forgot what I was saying," and they both laughed softly, contentedly.

"'We're not in Kansas any more, Captain,'" he prompted.

"Yes. That was about it, I think. He went somewhere else, and I slept on their bed. His idea. It was the only good sleep I had either night."

"An omen?"

She took his hand, not answering, and they moved slowly on, clasped hands swinging between them. He had said little during her recapitulation of her experiences in the other universe, simply listened, asking a question here and there. Now he said quietly, "You didn't tell me what his reaction was when you told him I'm your first officer."

She frowned, trying to decide how to tell him. Nonsense. Just tell him.

"He said, 'Full-dress cop-out. How convenient.'" Silence, but she felt his hand tighten on hers. "He had second thoughts about that by the next day, though." More silence. "That's when he said you'd chosen to give me your allegiance, and we went on to other things."

"Did it ever come up again?"

"No."

Their steps slowed, and he took her other hand as well, turning her to face him as they stopped walking. A stray breeze off the lake blew a strand of hair across her forehead and she tossed it back, not wanting to withdraw either of her hands from his.

"We can talk about this later," she said steadily, meeting his troubled gaze. "If this isn't the right time for you."

"It's past time." He frowned a little, and then went on slowly. "The Caretaker's abduction came at the right time for me, and Voyager was in the right place. I was thinking about leaving the Maquis."

She did not know what she had expected to hear, only that it was not this. She felt her eyes widen in surprise, and then felt him trying to draw his hands from hers as his gaze shifted away. "No," she said firmly. "No--don't do that." Clasping his hands tightly, she willed him to meet her gaze once more. "Talk to me, Chakotay." Her voice was almost a whisper, her gaze intent on his. "You're right. It's past time."

"The Cardassians killed my father," he said finally. "That's why I resigned and joined the Maquis--to fight for my people's lives, and for the land. But it didn't quite work out that way." A deep sigh. "Killing Cardassians doesn't bring back anybody _they_ killed, and what we were doing--it just didn't make any _difference_. We were just a...a nuisance to them. We weren't making any difference at all. All we were doing was blowing things up and killing...people." The dark eyes were haunted now. "And most of my crew enjoyed it. There were times when even I--" He closed his eyes momentarily and shook his head.

"B'Elanna?" The question slipped out before she could stop it.

"Hell, no." A short, painful laugh. "She talks a good game, and in close combat--we were boarded more than once--she fights like a demon. But all she really cared about was keeping the damn engines online."

She nodded, surprised at the depth of her relief. Odd. The idea that the once violent B'Elanna might have enjoyed killing her enemies had disturbed her more than Chakotay's admission that he had.

Because he had wanted to stop.

"So you thought about leaving."

"There were days," he said quietly, "when I thought I would have sold my soul to be back in Starfleet. But there was no way they were going to take me back, and anyway--I'd made a commitment to do what I could for my people, and I couldn't see my way clear to abandoning that commitment. Or my crew. Couldn't see my way clear to anything." Another deep sigh. "And then--." He smiled, and his hands tightened on hers. "There you were, asking me to come back, and I didn't have to betray anybody or anything to do it. But he was right. It still felt like a cop-out."

"Does it now?"

"No." Without hesitation. Without explanation. Just No.

She bowed her head, resting her forehead against his chin for a moment, squeezed his hands and then let one of them go so that they could walk side-by-side again.

They came to the place where the rocky cliff dropped directly into the water. Removing their shoes and carrying them in their outboard hands, they waded in hand in hand. When they had gone about half way, he said, "You said he realized almost right away that you weren't his Kathryn. What happened before he realized that?"

To her own surprise, she giggled. "You aren't going to believe this." Releasing his hand, she took him by the wrist and tried to pull his arm around her neck. "No--not around my shoulders. Like this." Awkwardly, she tried again to pull his arm around her neck, but having no idea what she was trying to do, he was unable to cooperate. And then, suddenly, he was. Pulling her close, he murmured, "Like this?"

"Yes. And then he--Chakotay--stop! We're going to drop our shoes in the water!" He was laughing as hard as she was, utterly delighted, trying to blow in her ear and being largely unsuccessful because he was laughing so hard. Only when they both almost lost their footing were they able to subdue their laughter and gain the beach at the far end of the cliff. Dropping their shoes in the sand, they hugged again, and he managed to blow gently in her ear. "How did you know what he did?" she asked finally.

"My p--our--his--oh, hell. He got it from his parents."

Fascinated, she whispered, "What does it mean?"

"'Blow in my ear and I'll follow you anywhere.'" His arms tightened, and for a few moments they simply held each other, no longer laughing. "Maybe I should have told you before I did it."

"That wouldn't have made any difference." They pulled apart a little, and he brushed a stray lock back from her forehead even as she ran her fingers lightly over the tattoo on his and then through his hair. For the moment, that was enough for both of them.

~~~

The sun had dropped down the sky behind the bazaar as they approached the Seer's stall, still hand in hand. She looked up at them, smiling a little as her gaze went from Janeway to Chakotay and back again, her fingers flying as she continued to work the piece she had been working the day before. An aid to concentration? Janeway wondered. The clear, almost colorless alien eyes settled on Chakotay, and the smile deepened as she murmured, "Ah!" Chakotay smiled quizzically at her, and after a moment she added in a conversational tone, as though she were discussing the weather, "The silver animal is of the spirit world, then."

Tensing a little, Chakotay hesitated before speaking; Janeway had told him how the woman had refused to explain her talent, insisting that Janeway would not understand. Then, watching him, she saw his eyes narrow slightly, as though he had become aware of something he hadn't seen before--or as though he were making a guess? "Do spirits assist you in your readings?" he asked, and Janeway's jaw almost dropped when the alien answered him.

"Ancestral spirits," she said quietly. "You understand, then." Her gaze moving to Janeway, her smile now apologetic. "Your Lady does not understand these things."

Fascinated, Janeway felt Chakotay let go of her hand and move to stand behind her, his gaze, she was sure, still meeting the alien's. At first his movement seemed somehow protective, even though he was behind her. But then she realized that what she had taken for protective was in fact supportive. Laying his hands on her shoulders, he said gently but firmly, "No, she doesn't. But she listens for understanding, and that too is a gift--much like your own."

Such simple words, and yet somehow they brought tears to Janeway's eyes. Crossing her arms, she laid her hands on his where they rested on her shoulders, and felt him touch his lips to her hair.

"That's good, then," the alien said approvingly, "and you two are good together." It was as much a benediction as a felicitation.

~~~

After supper, they went wading in the lake together, this time not carrying their shoes.

Barefoot and hand-in-hand, they waded into the waves now lapping gently at the sand in contrast to the evening before, when they had attacked the beach in a white-curled rush of dark indigo. She thought briefly about telling him how she had sat it the surf, her clothing soaked, arms around her knees, letting the waves wash over and around her while her body sang with anticipation of him. But there was nothing she needed to tell him, she realized. Everything that needed to be said had already been said, or soon would be.

As she paused to savor the reflection of the setting sun across the water from the horizon, he laid his arms around her from behind as she had somehow known he would. One went around her waist, the other underneath her hair, lifting it to the side and forward over her shoulder, exposing the nape of her neck to the coolness of the lake breeze and the warmth of his lips. She drew in her breath; if he had exposed her breasts and kissed them, the act could not have been more intimate, yet his hands did not wander. One arm still around her waist, he laid the other over her hair, now spread across the skin left bare by the neckline of her shirt, his hand resting lightly on her opposite shoulder; his mouth was doing the wandering, across the back of her neck, its lingering touch as light as the pleasure it gave her was intense. Pressing her body back against his, she kissed the hand on her shoulder and then rubbed her cheek against his arm.

"Hold still." But he was teasing. She could feel the smile.

"Can't," she whispered, smiling too, arching her neck so that the back of her head caressed his cheek.

"Dare you."

"No fun," she insisted, giving in to the irrepressible urge to wriggle against him even as both arms tightened around her. Bad idea, she realized immediately. Neither of them had been thinking about keeping their balance against the waves that lapped against them thigh-high, and the small, smooth stones that covered the lake's bottom tended to shift without warning. Wrapped together as they were, they were utterly unable to break their awkward tumble once it began, and ended up sputtering and splashing, then helping each other to stand again, both of them laughing helplessly and completely drenched, her hair tangled and damp as high as her shoulders.

Catching each other by the hand once more, they ran back across the sand together in the failing light. Through the open doorway she could see the fire still burning as they had left it, only a little sunk into itself in their absence, still sending shadows dancing over the walls. Now, she thought, exultant. Now. And as he let go of her hand to strip off his sodden shirt, she grasped the bottom edge of hers, arms crossed, and pulled it off over her head.

_Here let the fiery burden all be spilled,  
The passionate voice be calmed and stilled,  
And the long yearning of the blood fulfilled._

He turned before she had completed the movement, and at his expression-- lips slightly parted, dark eyes shining as she had never seen them--she paused, arms raised, the shirt still around her wrists, and tossed back her air, letting the lake's faint breath caress her bare breasts even as his gaze did.

When she began to lower her arms, he whispered, "Don't. Not yet."

She paused again, letting him drink her in as though he were parched, letting herself imagine the sensation of pressing her breasts, nipples erect, against his chest. Then she tossed the shirt away and moved toward him, surprised when he put up his hands as though to ward her off. Instead, he took her hands in his, his eyes never leaving hers, laid her hands gently against the fastening of his pants, then his against hers. Taking their time, each of them stripped the other, barely touching one another, fingertips brushing lightly across hips and buttocks as their clothing slipped to the floor. He's all bronze and firelight, she thought, her arms reaching for him, again surprised when he made a movement that seemed to resist her. But it was only to touch her lightly on the insides of her upper arms, guiding them upwards until they went around his neck, allowing their bodies to come together naked length against length.

For an instant neither of them could breathe, and in the next they were moaning against each other, her face in his neck and his buried in the damp hair on her shoulder, his erection pressed hot and hard between them. All of her fantasies of slow, sensuous lovemaking fled upward into the darkness like sparks from a log splitting asunder; the only thing she wanted--mind, body, soul--was to come with him inside her. A small part of her thanked every deity in the universe that she had left the sleeping bag spread out that morning instead of putting it away; the floor was unfinished wood, and they would both have had splinters up their spines if they had rolled on it like this....

"Can't go slow," he gasped, thrusting uncontrollably as she drew him in and in and in, she so tight and he so hard. So much wanting, so long denied.

"Then don't," she responded in kind, and then everything turned dark and red and gold and exploded. Somebody was groaning and she had no idea which of them it was or if it was both of them but it didn't matter, nothing mattered except what was happening to their bodies convulsing together in the firelight and the soft, wet breeze from the open door.

Even when it was over, it wasn't over; neither of them seemed to be able to let go of the other. He was still half-hard inside her, and she was joyfully unsurprised when his hands slid down and grasped her buttocks, pressing and releasing, pressing and releasing as half-hard slowly swelled to fill her again. Her hands imitated his, but this time both of them moved more and more slowly instead of with increasing tempo. Their mouths found and ate each other, hungry and probing and then slowing too, tasting and nourishing each other while their hands continued in the same gradually decreasing rhythm. Somewhere deep within her a dark indigo wave was moving toward its crest; she could feel her muscles begin to contract around him and knew that he could feel it too, and yet it was all inside; the rest of her was barely moving now, as was the rest of him. Only their hands moved, pressing, holding, releasing, their lips barely touching, sweet and soft....

"I'm--" she whispered almost inaudibly. "It's c--." Her voice caught.

"I know," he answered, and she could hear the utter delight in his voice. "I can feel it." And then the wave crested--pulsing down her thighs and up through her breasts and throat to her face--no longer indigo but rosy-pink and warm. He shivered and came with a gasp; she felt his mouth tremble against hers as he poured himself into her until it seemed that there was nothing left of him but one long, drawn-out sigh.

He shifted his weight as he slid out of her so that he lay partially on top of her and partially beside her, his cheek against her shoulder, one hand gently caressing her slick inner thigh. She had just discovered how delicious it was to bury her face in his hair when she felt the cheek against her shoulder begin to curve and found herself grinning even before he spoke.

"Oops," he said lazily, his voice full of mock regret, "we forgot the foreplay part."

She could not remember ever having laughed like this. He seemed startled at first, raising his head to look into her face as though the reassure himself that she wasn't hysterical. "I'm okay," she gasped, patting his shoulder and then wiping her eyes with the heel of the hand that wasn't pinned underneath him. Every time she thought she was winding down, it would bubble up and overflow again, and she gave herself up to it as she had given herself up to his desire and his love.

Raising himself, he slipped one hand beneath each of her shoulders and then hid his face against her breasts, rubbing one cheek and then the other against her as she gradually subsided into near- exhaustion. Putting both arms around his shoulders, she held him, cheek against his hair, until she could trust herself to speak coherently.

"We've been foreplaying all day long."

This time she felt the grin against her breast. "I noticed." But the words were slurred with fatigue, and she knew he was more than half asleep already, one hand still under her shoulder, the other arm lying across her body, his palm against her side just beneath her armpit. She knew too that she should wake him up and get them both into a more comfortable position before they slept; relaxed as he was, he was dead weight, and she was barely able to move even though he was not completely on top of her. But she did not want to move, ever. And that was all that was important at the moment.

She woke to full night. She had not brought a chronometer with her, trusting Tuvok to contact her two hours before it was time for her to go back as she had asked him to do. But the silence and the darkness spoke tacitly of small hours after midnight. The fire had long since died to embers, and the only sounds were the waves, lapping softly against the beach outside, and the muted but insistent whisper of wind in the trees behind the cabin.

They had moved a little apart in sleep, but lay on their sides facing one another, close enough that she could feel his breath on her cheek-- what breath there was. He slept so deeply that he seemed to be scarcely breathing at all, and yet his free hand, the right one, rested gently on her right breast, the fingers barely curved, palm to her skin. Even in the darkness here at the center of night, she could see them: her breast pale as porcelain, his hand light golden brown, as warm as his palm that caressed her even as he slept. Smiling to herself, she drifted off again, imagining waking up to find him waking too, his fingers lightly stroking....

She came awake again with her stomach muscles contracting in a spasm very like a mini-orgasm, but without the violent release an orgasm normally gave her. The hand that had been on her breast when she fell asleep was now between her legs, stroking her swollen sex with one exploring finger. She was already so wet that there was almost no friction, only the intense pleasure of being touched awake by someone so obviously focused on discovery.

Propped on his elbow, lips curved in a half-smile that in no way suggested that he was teasing her but only that he was enjoying himself immensely, he watched her face as she spasmed again, exhaling sharply through her parted lips, her thighs spreading involuntarily, pelvis rising to meet his touch.

"Put your arms up again," he whispered, eyes shining as they had the night before when she had pulled her shirt over her head and then stood luxuriating in his gaze with the shirt around her wrists. At the time, she had wondered briefly if it was the illusion that her wrists were bound had excited him, but now it was more than clear to her that that had not been a factor. The raised arms also raised her breasts, and exposed her entire body in a way that could not be duplicated when her arms were at her sides. Stretching, hands above her head, she began to roll slightly back and forth, muscles contracting once again.

Still stroking her, he sat up, pulled his legs under him and sat back on his heels, his gaze traveling the length of her body as she twisted and moaned, now raising her knees to stretch herself open as wide as she could. His penis was fully erect; she could see the underside of it faintly even in the dark. Yet he made no move to enter her--

And then he was between her legs, the finger gone, touching her instead with his mouth--touch and gone, touch and gone, until she wanted to scream, _NoNoNo!_. Somehow, the word she gasped out instead was "Please--"

"Don't beg." He raised his head momentarily, mouth already glistening. "Never beg. Just tell me what you want."

"Once you've--just stay there," she managed, and then he was there and staying, and she had to fight to keep from pressing herself against him as hard as she could because she had no idea whether he would want that- -until she heard him murmur "Kiss me back" and she cried out and came violently, rubbing herself against his probing lips and tongue.

Her first coherent thought was _Do it again_. But wet as she was now, there was something else she wanted even more.

Instead of going limp as a towel as he probably expected her to do, she sat up, motioning silently for him to sit facing her, both of them with their knees drawn up, one of her legs over one of his. She suspected that he knew what she was after, for she did not have to explain in words; both of them shifted position until they were close enough to each other that the tip of his penis was brushing against her. Taking him in one hand, she paused for a moment to let them both savor the shudder of pleasure that passed through him at her touch. Then, very gently at first, she began to rub the tip of his sex against hers.

He was sitting with his head bent forward, his forehead almost touching hers, and it was easy to whisper directly into his ear: "Spread me open," and when he had complied, "Watch us."

Again he complied, but it was only a few seconds later that he said in a strangled voice, "If you don't plan for us to finish it like this, you're in for a surprise."

"Surprise me," she whispered, and when he groaned and began to ejaculate: "Keep watching us." And then he did surprise her. Without urging, he began gently to rub the thick, milky fluid from his body into hers, mingling it with her own. Her pleasure was intense, and yet she did not come ; she did not want to miss anything. Instead, she slowly spread their mingled essences over the part of him that she still held in her other hand and the softness beneath it until he was as slick and sticky as she. Finally, resting her forehead against his, she murmured, "I thought this up last night. If you hadn't arrived today, who knows that I would have come up with."

He chuckled appreciatively. "How 'bout I go back up and--"

"Don't get greedy. And don't go back to sleep on me." She sighed, uncomfortably aware of her dry, parched mouth. "I have to get a drink of water or I'll die of thirst. Don't know what's the matter with me."

He touched her again--lightly, intimately. "A little dehydrated, maybe?" Then, when she snickered and began to get up: " Stay here. I'll get it."

Putting her arms around her drawn up knees, she realized that a chill had crept into the room and that the light was subtly changing. Outside, a few sleepy birds were tuning up for their dawn chorus. Shivering a little, she hugged her knees until he returned with the water, noticing as she drank it that, as had happened after their first time, he had not completely lost his erection. Several options presented themselves to her in rapid succession, but by the time she had emptied the cup, she had made her choice among them.

He had squatted down next to her to watch her drink, as he had watched her do nearly everything she'd done all day. One knee was on the floor, his hand resting on it. The other supported the arm he had draped over it. Thinking she had finished with the cup, he reached for it, but she avoided his hand, catching his gaze with hers and holding it as she lingeringly and deliberately licked the remaining moisture from the cup's rim. Setting it down, already feeling herself soften and swell at the look in his eyes, she absently began to wipe her mouth with the back of her hand. But he caught her wrist, released it, and as deliberately as she had licked the cup, he ran his thumb across her top lip, then the bottom one. The cup fell over and rolled off the sleeping bag, but both of them had forgotten it.

Pushing him gently but firmly down on his back with one hand and spreading his legs with the other, she began to stroke him, watching his eyes and the way his body moved as he had watched hers after he had awakened her. It was the first time she had seen him naked and supine, and the pre-dawn light was sufficient for her to see him well. If he had been golden brown in firelight, this light did him as it did the rest of the room--in soft shades of gray and black. Like his hair, she thought. Or his wolf. Eyes half closed, his body tense and yearning toward her hands and what was to come, he was paradoxically extremely relaxed at an even deeper level. He was, she realized with a surge of pure joy, utterly enjoying himself in the act of turning ownership of the moment over to her, even as she had to him.

Not a passive participant either; every part of his body was active even in stillness, the more so when he moved, now raising himself on his elbows to observe her hands moving over him with delight faintly tinged with wistfulness. No sooner had she identified the source of that insight than he murmured, "Promises, promises" in a tone of mock reproof. Yet there was something almost shy about the way he said it, and in the velvet softness of the dark eyes now fully open. _Just tell me what you want_, she thought, and touched a kiss to the smooth tip of the part of him she held in her hand.

If he had been relaxed before, that state ended abruptly as she ran her tongue down the underside of his penis. His arms went out from under him as his hips jerked uncontrollably; he caught his breath and held it for a long moment as she went on loving him with her mouth and the tips of her fingers. Then: "Too fast," he muttered thickly. "I c-- do you want--"

"Rain check on that." She kissed him one last time and then knelt up to straddle him, guiding him into her as his hips jerked again at the contact. Expecting him to come immediately, she tossed her head back to enjoy it, her hands resting on her own thighs. Not anticipating complete arousal this time, she was suddenly conscious of how deeply he was penetrating her as he began to run his fingers lightly over her breasts, sending shivers all over her skin. Thrusting herself forward into his hands, she rotated her hips, forcing him deeper even as he thrust upward, kneading her. Needing her....

They climaxed almost at the same time, and suddenly spent, she leaned forward, hands flat down on either side of him, and let her head hang between her arms, her hair falling forward over her shoulders. He lay flat on his back, not moving, and she realized that he was slipping out of her, no stiffness left anywhere in him. Raising her head, she sat back with a sigh, keeping him under her, the contact oddly almost more intimate in satiation than it was in arousal. Dreamily, she moved her hips again, and was rewarded with a faint squishing sound.

Heavy-lidded, eyes only half open, he smiled. "Need another drink o' water?"

Certain that if she started laughing now she would never be able to stop, she smacked him playfully on the behind, crawled off him and lay down beside him, completely exhausted but unable to relax. With the dawning light, a cool breeze had sprung up off the lake, and she found herself shivering uncontrollably with a combination of chill and fatigue. "C-can we get inside this thing?" she asked, and clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering.

He roused himself with an effort, then took one look at her and went into action, pulling the sleeping bag out from under her almost before she could crawl off it. Then his expression changed, hovering between his wry sense of the ridiculous and actual annoyance. Displaying the apparently saturated surface on which they had made love virtually all night for her appraisal, he grimaced. "What'd you have in mind--life jackets or a raft?"

"The l-lining's m-moisture-proof," she managed, and his annoyance vanished in his concern for her.

"Get inside. Come on." Unzipping the bag, he laid it open, took her by the arm, thrust her into it, and zipped it up almost in one continuous motion. Still shivering and hugging herself, she watched him pad across the floor to close the window and the door. Glancing at the dead fire on his way back, he frowned. "Should I make another fire?"

"Only if you d-don't plan to get the hell in here and w-warm me up."

A small cool draft accompanied him inside, but once he had her in his arms, his chest pressed to her back, she no longer felt it. Crossing his arms over hers, he curled his body around her, pushing against the backs of her knees with his until she pulled hers up to her chest. Burying his face in her hair, he held her tightly until her shivering stopped, then relaxed his arms a little. But if she had expected him to drop off right away, she was mistaken. As the first shaft of dawn light fell across them, he asked softly, "How many nights have you fantasized going to sleep like this?"

She considered the question thoughtfully. Yesterday, it had been a year to the day since he and his crew had come aboard Voyager. "Oh, three hundred, give or take." Trying not to let the grin show in her voice: "The last three hundred, of course. You?"

"Three hundred sixty-five," he answered smugly.

"Oh, right."

"You forget, Katydid. I had a head start."

And she thought: How do I know he's smiling when I'm not even looking at him?

-3-

It was clear to both of them that this was not the first time that either of them had taken a shower with a lover after spending the night together. They didn't even discuss it, but simply stepped into the tub and turned the water on. When she began to fiddle with the faucets, he sighed with mock resignation. "Ah, she likes it steaming hot. I should've known."

"Why should you have known?" she asked, turning the hot water down a little. She was slightly bent over, and he put one arm around her front, the other around her back, and hugged her against him. "You don't need to persuade me. I'm turning the hot down." Grinning, she rubbed her cheek against his bare arm.

"Fast burners always like hot showers."

"Am I a fast burner?"

"Yup." He drew quick, zigzagging lines across her back. "Zip over here, zip over there, talk fast, make fast decisions--"

"This wasn't a fast decision. Being here with you, I mean." She soaped her hands, passed the soap to him, and began later his chest and neck. He closed his eyes at the first touch and stood still while she ran her slippery hands over his body. Finally he whispered, "I know," and began to lather her.

She rested her head against the tile, surveying him with interest, and then giggled.

"It's standing straight up!"

Puzzled, he glanced down along his body. "Not hardly." His voice broke into a chuckle on the word, and she knew the pun had been unintentional.

"Not _that_, you idiot!" Laughing helplessly now, took him by the ears and shook him gently. "I mean your hair!"

"Well, yeah. Isn't it always?"

"Not like this." She ran her soapy hands through it, massaging his scalp with her fingers, and he sighed with pleasure and closed his eyes again. "You look like a porcupine, but it feels like fur." She drew the word out as though she were purring.

"Thank you. I think," he answered wryly. "Yours feels like wet silk." And he reached for the shampoo bottle she had brought into the shower with her.

No one had washed her hair for her since she was a child, and they both enjoyed the procedure so much that the morning was almost over before they dried themselves off, dressed, and took their breakfast to the table in the sand.

"We have to talk before we go back," she said when they had finished eating. The day was a little cooler than the previous one, but the sky was bright, the breeze gentle, and the lake almost calm. "About us, and the crew, and how they're going to react to...us, and what we're going to do about it."

He laid his hand over hers when they finished eating. Now he looked into her eyes, gave her hand a gentle squeeze, and withdrew his. And it seemed to her that he was a little less relaxed than he had been a moment ago. _What does he think I'm going to say?_ she wondered, and decided it was time to find out.

"I don't want to sneak around, Chakotay. And I won't."

The smile broke over his face like dawn, and his eyes shone with something she could only describe as joy.

"What in the world," she whispered, "did you think I was going to say?"

"I didn't know."

"But--but you _couldn't_ have thought--"

"Kathryn." His hand moved a little, but he visibly kept himself from taking hers again. It was mandatory that they maintain what little objectivity they could, and being in physical contact wouldn't help. "We think alike on so many things, but--" He shook his head and sighed. "We can't assume we're in sync on everything. You're Voyager's captain. I really didn't know how you felt about this. I just...hoped." Again, that sunny, joyful smile. "Everything's different now," she said slowly, still meeting his gaze. "Out here, where there is no Starfleet. Where we're all the Starfleet there is, I mean. There's no assurance that we'll ever get home. You and I have talked about this." He nodded, intent on every word. "Sometime soon we're are going to have to decide, deliberately and systematically, how much of what we've always taken for granted as Starfleet officers is truly relevant to the life that Voyager's crew is living _now_. Because barring something virtually unimaginable, it never gets any better than this."

She didn't catch the double meaning in context--Freudian slip?--until the words were out. But he caught it immediately; she could see it in his eyes. For a split second, she was tempted to push on, ignoring that look, being only his captain and not his lover. But she couldn't. Letting a slow grin replace her previously serious intensity, she felt her cheeks grow warm and reflexively lifted her hands to cover her blush.

Taking her hands, he drew them away from her cheeks and replaced them with his, leaning his forehead against hers. They were silent for a time, listening to the waves lapping and the birds chirping. Then she whispered, "Your turn. I'm not doing too well at this, am I."

"You're doing fine." He sighed and reluctantly withdrew his hands. "Can I go back a ways?" She nodded. "I've wanted you from the beginning." Another simple statement of truth, without emotional fanfare, yet it sent a thrill of longing through her. "At first I thought we all might take leave on some planet like this, and you and I might indulge ourselves in a little friendly fire. But that was only at first."

She nodded again; she had entertained the same fantasies at first, but with little intention of ever giving into them. "Friendly fire" was a Starfleet euphemism, never mentioned in any course or in any book of rules, but familiar to all from Academy days on. It described a situation in which two trusted friends who worked together closely on long voyages in deep space spent shore leave in a pleasurable interlude, with the complete understanding on both their parts that the relationship might not be permanent or even continue when they returned to duty. Evolving over two centuries, the arrangement had attained the stability and predictability of ritual in a society where the participants were light years from home for long periods and in need of intimate human contact. Sometimes there were problems: jealousy, possessiveness, unrequited quasi-permanent attachments, an occasional exploitive relationship when the participants were not of equal rank. But for a race so long mired in ambivalence about sexuality and its expression, Starfleet humans had shown themselves surprisingly able over the years to accept and practice a new and adaptive set of values. And it had become increasingly obvious that among many alien races, friendly fire was not a new idea at all.

The most important components of such an arrangement were mutual consent and open-endedness; no commitment was stated, implied, or ruled out. And that was why Janeway had never seriously considered such an arrangement with her first officer. No relationship between her and Chakotay could be temporary. She knew that in her soul, and was sure he did too. It was simply a given: all or nothing.

"With us, it has to be all or nothing," he was continuing, and she saw him move his hand slightly toward her and then repress the impulse. Following gut instinct instead of her command-trained better judgment, she reached out with both hands across the narrow table, and he immediately clasped them in his. "Thank you," he murmured, dark eyes alight.

"It just felt right," was all she could think of by way of explanation. "How did we both know how it has to be? We never talked about it specifically on the ship."

"Neither of us would be here now if it wasn't going to be all or nothing. We both knew that."

"Yes." There was no doubt in her mind, even though she still didn't quite know why. "But what about our crew, Chakotay? We're their commanding officers. That puts a whole different slant on it. We know what's best for us, but what about what's best for them?"

"This is what's best for them." His hands tightened on hers. "My counterpart told you that. They're safer this way, and so is the ship."

"I want to believe that."

"Then believe it. Because it's true. What's the alternative? We go on having breakfast together and kidding around on the bridge, talking about people pairing off and mating behavior while they all give us knowing looks? Even Harry knows, and Paris has been doing a hell of lot of smirking lately." She laughed at the exasperated resignation in his voice, and he smiled briefly in response. But he was on a roll now, and whatever was still coming had to be said. "Some of them are going to be resentful, and some of them are going to be jealous, and some of them are going to feel betrayed and aren't going to be able to trust us to be fair--for a while. And some few of them are even going to find it offensive."

"That sounds like something out of the 21st century."

"There were still Puritans in the 20th--even if they weren't called that."

"Anyway, that's not what I'm worried about. It's the ones that aren't going to trust us that I'm worried about."

"Kathryn--" He sighed. "The ones who aren't going to trust us are the same ones who don't trust us now. It'll just take a little longer this way, that's all."

After a moment, she asked softly, "What about Tuvok?"

"Tuvok," he said slowly, "is going to need a great deal of reassurance from you and a great deal of patience from me. More than I've shown him so far, I think."

"Do you dislike him?" she asked soberly.

"Hell, no. I don't think I dislike him. I just resent his resentment. Of me. As first officer."

"I think," she said carefully, "that you're reading too much into that." He shook his head--convinced, adamant. "When I told him that I was going to ask you to serve as my first officer and explained why, he agreed with me. He even said it was logical."

He snorted. "Great." But he was surprised. "What are you going to tell him about us? That it's logical?" Relieved, she saw a small, wry smile some into play around his mouth.

"No. I'm going to tell him we're bondmates."

For a moment he simply stared. Then, slowly, a haze of tears came to his eyes.

"Well," she said softly, "it's true. Isn't it?"

He rose, drew her into is arms, and held her tightly. Finally she asked, "Why does it feel like we're on borrowed time?" But she knew the answer.

"Because we are." He sighed. "Tuvok'll be on the horn telling you it's time to come back in what--three or four hours?" Yet the prospect didn't seem to bother him nearly as much as it was beginning to bother her.

"About that." They both knew that he had two more days of shore leave after she returned to the ship, but his expression was content and almost...smug? "Is there something I don't know that I should know?"

"Uh-huh. But I'm not telling yet."

"Why not?"

"Because if I tell you later, we'll have less time to argue about it." He grinned. "Come on, Katydid. I want to go see the Seer again and see if she Sees anything she didn't See yesterday."

They walked the beaches toward town as they had the day before, but without nearly as much conversation. As they reached the point where they had to take off their shoes and wade, she said quietly, "Let's compromise, okay? You tell me now what we're going to argue about, and I promise not to argue about it until we get back to the cabin."

"You drive a hard bargain," was all he said, but he said it with a grin. As they waded out, again hand in hand, he went on. "I'm not staying here, Kathryn. I'm going back with you and take the rest of my leave on the ship."

She felt as though a heavy burden had been lifted from her--much heavier than she had consciously acknowledged. But she had to argue, as he had known she would. Their steps slowed as she told him of her time alone--doing next to nothing, even thinking next to nothing, sleeping the clock around and more for two nights. "I needed that, and you do too."

He turned, and they faced each other, the water lapping softly against their legs. "You did," he agreed quietly. "But I don't."

"But--"

He interrupted her with a word in his native language--multi-syllabic, complex, containing so many sounds that she could not have repeated it without coaching. "That's you. It means 'One who can walk alone.'"

"I don't want to walk alone any more," she whispered.

Leaning over, he kissed her gently. "The operative word is 'can.' You _can_, and there are times when you need to. I know that. But the word for me is--" Another complex combination of syllables. "It means 'One who walks with others.' A vacation alone isn't restful for me. It's empty. Voyager is my home and our crew are my people, and you are my best friend and my dearest love, and I want to go home with you today." She made a small, inarticulate sound as he pulled her against him, her head tucked between his cheek and his shoulder. "Now argue with that." She shook her head, unable to answer. "Or don't." And she could feel his cheek smiling.

After a while she said unsteadily, "As your captain, I should order you to stay. But as your lover, I can't do it."

"Here. Look." Pulling away a little, he pointed down into the water where their reflections wavered and rippled, she with her head on his shoulder and he with his arm around hers. "How many people do you see there?"

"Two."

"Not four? Not Kathryn and the captain and Chakotay and the first officer?"

She gave a small, painful chuckle. "No."

"Funny. Just then you were sounding like there are four of us."

"Chakotay, we have to be able to separate--"

"No," he said, calm but very firm. "There are only two of us. Not four."

"I--can't feel that. Not yet."

"Will you try?"

She stood silent in his embrace, thinking over all that he had said. Wrong as it had sounded at first, it was just barely beginning to sound right.

"Yes," she said. "I'll try."

~~~

The Seer's booth was gone.

They stood on the beach together, a bit like two forlorn children, hand in hand. But the jewel-like colors were gone from the bazaar, and all that was left was black and white and gray.

"Business as usual," she said finally, and sighed, feeling the terrible everyday close in on them like a fog. He drew her against him again, and it suddenly came to her that she was doing all the worrying and he was doing all the reassuring. Not right. Not right at all.

Turning, she put both arms around his neck and blew very gently in his ear.

"My dearest love," she whispered, and felt his arms tighten around her. "Let's go home."

_Now voyager, come home, come home to rest,  
Here on that long-lost country of earth's breast  
Lay down the fiery vision and be blest, be blest._


End file.
